


neighborhood;blue

by mysoulrunswithwolves



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Consensual Underage Sex, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Sex, an examination of a relationship over the years, but there is violence so stay safe kids, man these are heavy tags, there isn't graphic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8780575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysoulrunswithwolves/pseuds/mysoulrunswithwolves
Summary: He can’t really remember what life was before he met Iwaizumi. But life with Iwaizumi is bright, sunny days filled with the warmth that lingers in your hair and seeps beneath your skin. Laughter that bubbles just below the surface, waiting to be released with each exhale in the warm summer air. Oikawa Tooru realizes when he's ten that nobody will probably ever make him feel as wild as Iwaizumi Hajime does.





	1. Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I've been tossing this idea around for a while now, and it's plotted in its entirety so it will go up quickly with a new update every few days until this is finished. This is a heavier fic, but there is still plenty of fluff and feelings mixed in.
> 
> I marked that it's underage, but everything that happens is consensual I just wanted to play it safe. Same goes for the violence. It's nothing too graphic, and most of the violence will happen next chapter anyway, I just don't want to trigger anyone by accident!
> 
> Enjoy!

He’s ten years old when he realizes that Iwaizumi Hajime makes him feel wild in ways nothing else can.

***

He can’t really remember what life was before he met Iwaizumi. But life with Iwaizumi is bright, sunny days filled with the warmth that lingers in your hair and seeps beneath your skin. Laughter that bubbles just below the surface, waiting to be released with each exhale in the warm summer air.

They’re sitting in the old tree in the forest behind their houses, the one that looks like it’s spreading out as far as it can in the dying sun of summer, and they’re climbing in the branches higher and higher.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says from his spot on the branch below him. “We’re going to be friends forever, right?”

Iwaizumi scowls down at him, a strange look in a child so young still. “Are you an idiot?”

Tooru gasps, lets his lower lip drop into a pout. “Mean, Iwa-chan you’re so mean.”

He reaches up, searching for a hold to pull himself up by. Instead of the rough scrape of bark across palms, it’s the soft skin of Iwaizumi’s hand in his as he helps haul Tooru up next to him. They look out across the fields of trees, watching birds swoop through the sky in daring dives and beautiful spirals until the sunset fades into the stillness of twilight.

Tooru doesn’t remove his hand from Iwaizumi’s until they start climbing down the tree.

 

Tooru manages to drag Iwaizumi over to his house for dinner, despite his mumblings of “my dad is going to be _mad_ , Kawa-chan.”

“So? Let him be mad, my mom makes the _best_ curry Iwa-chan. You won’t regret it,” he responds, brushing off Iwaizumi’s concern like dust from a table. He drags Iwaizumi in through the back door, both of them toeing off their shoes. Tooru makes a mad dash for the kitchen while Iwaizumi follows slowly, hesitation dogging his steps.

“Kaa-san,” he chirps happily, hugging his mother around the waist as she stirs something in a pot that smells heavenly.

“Tooru-chan!” She bends down and hugs him tightly before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. She notices Iwaizumi as she straightens. “Oh, you brought Iwaizumi-kun home.”

“He can stay for dinner, right?”

“Of course, Tooru-chan,” she says with a warm smile. “You boys wash up, dinner will be ready in a minute.”

Tooru nods quickly and once again tows Iwaizumi into the bathroom to wash their hands. He notices the strain on Iwaizumi’s face as he watches him in the mirror. “What’s wrong Iwa-chan?” He asks, not liking the way his eyebrows are pinched together.

“My dad is going to be mad when he gets home from work and I’m not there.”

“It’s okay. I’ll walk you back home and tell him you were at my house. I’m sure it will be fine.” Tooru waits for a response that never comes. The front door slams as his own dad returns from work. “Come on, Iwa-chan! Dad is home.”

They dry their hands quickly and Iwaizumi follows as Tooru races through the house to hug his dad tightly as he’s stepping out of his shoes. He doesn’t notice the way Iwaizumi tilts his head in puzzlement while Tooru’s dad hugs him back and asks about his day, what he did. “I played with Iwa-chan today!” Tooru says brightly, pulling his dad over to where Iwaizumi is hovering by the kitchen table.

They all sit down as Tooru’s mother appears with dinner in hand and sets it on the table. When they’re all seated with food on their plates, Tooru’s parents turn and start asking Iwaizumi questions. Tooru doesn’t really pay attention to anything except his food until his father reaches out to pat Iwaizumi’s head saying, “I’m glad you’re friends with my son,” and Iwaizumi _violently_  flinches away from the touch.

Everyone freezes for a second before Tooru giggles and says “Iwa-chan you’re so _jumpy_.” He doesn’t notice the looks his parents exchange, or the blush of embarrassment slowly spreading across Iwaizumi’s cheeks, returning to his food instead.  

***

Tooru is fifteen and the realization hits him like one of Iwa-chan's spikes to the face.

He's in love with Iwaizumi.

It's not a surprise, really. He can't remember the last time he didn't feel the warmth bubbling in his chest whenever he looks at Iwaizumi. It feels like it's always been there, and maybe it has, but it took him a while and a few years of living to understand what the feeling was.

“Shittykawa look out!” He hears Iwaizumi’s shout, but it registers too late and he takes a volleyball straight to the face.

The pain brings him back to the present. “Owwww,” he whines, hands pressed to his face. He feels Iwaizumi’s calloused hands, rough from working with his dad, gently trying to pry his hands away from his face.

“What on earth were you thinking about?” He asks, prodding at Tooru’s nose gently.

“Uhhh,” he hesitates. There is no way Tooru is going to own up to what he was thinking about. “I don’t remember.”

“You are such an idiot. I can’t believe we’re friends.”

“Rude, Iwa-chan~!”

“It’s not broken, you’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

Iwaizumi pauses at this, then says, “I’ve seen broken bones before, this isn’t one.”

Tooru grumbles, but practice moves on and he lets it drop as Iwaizumi walks back to his side of the net.

 

Iwaizumi walks him home from volleyball practice, like he does every day, the routine grounding in the chaos of school and exams. They live on the same street anyway, so. Tooru doesn't ask about the bruises he can see on Iwaizumi's arms or the marks that his gym shorts can't quite keep hidden from view. He doesn't ask if Iwaizumi's dad is still drinking.

Iwaizumi turns to him when they reach Tooru's house, and Tooru reacts before Iwaizumi can protest, hugging him tightly, slightly awkward with the new length in his arms and legs. He's still trying to get used to his new height, to the way he now has to look down slightly to meet Iwaizumi's eyes.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” he whispers into the crook of his neck. “You’re my best friend, you know that right?”

Iwaizumi just grunts in response, wrapping his arms around Tooru’s ribs and squeezes back tightly. “Obviously, idiot.” His words are gruff, but Tooru can feel the way he tremors around him and doesn’t let go.

Tooru doesn’t know how long they stay like that, the sun slipping down past the horizon leaving a warm orange glow behind that fades slowly from purple to black like a bruise. Eventually Iwaizumi pulls away and turns to walk the rest of the way down the street to his house, but he does it slowly, like he doesn’t want to let go.

Tooru watches him disappear into the haze of twilight and wonders how long he’ll have to try until Iwaizumi learns how to dream again.

***

They're eleven when Tooru sees Iwaizumi's dad for the first time.

They're in his workshop behind the house, large shapes in for various repairs and fixes, and Tooru is a pirate king being besieged by Iwaizumi's crew and their laughter echoes across the yard, loud and bright in the summer heat.

Tooru becomes aware of the eyes that settle on him, watching his every move as he scampers through the high grass, running away from Iwaizumi who is chasing him with the stick he's using as a sword. He turns to look over his shoulder, to see how much time he has before Iwaizumi delivers another painful whack to the back of his legs with his sword. His eyes snag on the figure watching them from the back porch, worn out baseball cap on his head and a can of beer in his hands. Tooru scampers just out of reach before Iwaizumi can snag him and he becomes occupied with not getting yet _another_ bruise from Iwaizumi.

The next time he looks back at the porch, the figure is gone, but the weight of his gaze still presses down on Tooru, making him feel smaller than any eleven-year-old should feel.

***

When they’re fourteen Tooru works up the nerve to bring up the splotches of color that linger along Iwaizumi’s arms, his back, stomach. They’re sitting at the kitchen table in Tooru’s house doing homework when Tooru blurts, “You fall a lot, Iwa-chan,”

For a moment, he’s sure Iwaizumi is going to punch him. Then his stern expression crumbles until all that’s left is the pain that comes with wanting so badly to please your parents but coming up short every time.

“My dad drinks too much,” is all Iwaizumi says before returning to his math.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, resting his hand lightly, but briefly, against Iwaizumi’s arm.

“Me too,” is his response.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says after the silence lingers for too long, making him feel itchy behind his eyes. “Do you wanna play pirates and kings with me?”

Iwaizumi gives him a flat look. “Oikawa we’re fourteen, not twelve. Don’t you think we’re a bit old for that?”

Tooru pouts while Iwaizumi continues to stare at him. “You’re never too old to dream, Iwa-chan.”

All he gets in response is a grunt.

“Iwa-chan?” He asks, and he ignores the annoyance in Iwaizumi’s eyes as he glances up at him over his homework. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

Iwaizumi drags his hands down his face in exasperation and says, “Somewhere where you’ll let me do my math in peace.”

Tooru whines, but Iwaizumi answers him in earnest a second later. “I’d go anywhere but here, honestly.”

Tooru falls silent, whine dying from his lips. “Your dad again?”

Iwaizumi nods, then says “Come on, we need to get this done before he comes home.”

“Okay,” Tooru nods, turning back to his math.

He doesn't ask if Iwaizumi's dad is still drinking because he can see the answer in the hunched shoulders of the boy in front of him.

***

They're twelve and it's a summer filled with the screeching of seagulls and the crash of waves against the rocks and sand.

Tooru's parents have a blanket spread across the warm sand, red gingham pattern bright in the light of the midday sun.

He's running through the waves as they rush the shore, and he swings a sword that Iwaizumi's dad carved for him in front of him, waving off the enemies besieging his castle as they swarm from the sea.

The family dog runs beside him, barking at the birds and jumping through the waves. In Tooru's eyes, he's jumping between enemies, biting ankles and scaring off the cowards until Tooru's fighting the best of the best on his own, a lone defender of his kingdom.

With a shout, he rushes the nearest wave of invaders and spins in a circle, dislodging their weapons. It's still not enough, and he's only a lone king defending his castle, his only ally a dog.

Just before he's swamped by invaders, Iwaizumi is pressing his back to Tooru's his own wooden sword swinging to protect what Tooru can't.

“Don't worry, I'm here Kawa-chan!” He cries into the wind, and it sounds like the most terrifying war cry Tooru has ever heard.

At twelve years old, Tooru doesn't have a name for the brightness in his chest, the way it makes him feel invincible, secure and somehow completely sure that with Iwaizumi by his side, everything is possible. He doesn't know what the feeling is, or what causes it, he just knows that it's warmer with Iwa-chan by his side and he doesn't ever want that feeling to go away.

“Boys, come and eat!” Tooru's mom calls out to them, and Tooru doesn't hesitate to grab Iwaizumi's hand and tow him back up the beach to the blanket. The invaders can wait until after lunch.

This time, Tooru doesn't notice the measuring gaze of Iwaizumi's dad, doesn't see how he frowns slightly at the way Iwaizumi doesn't move to pull his hand out of Tooru's until he has to hold his food.

 

After lunch, they build a sand castle while their parents talk. Iwaizumi's dad is swallowing down another drink in an amber glass bottle, his laughter getting louder with each passing bottle. He doesn't see what happens, what comment causes it, but Iwaizumi's dad is lunging for Tooru's dad, fists at the ready, and Tooru has never seen Iwa-chan move so quickly.

He wraps his small arms around his dad's waist, and somehow his tiny arms manage to keep his dad away from Tooru's. Tooru watches as Iwa-chan pulls his dad away, turning back just once to shout “See you later, Kawa-chan!” into the wind.

Tooru collects their swords, keeps them safe until Iwaizumi comes over to play again.

***

He's seventeen and nobody drives him wild like Iwaizumi does. He's trying hard not to fall as they walk home from volleyball practice just like they do every day. It takes him by surprise the first time Iwaizumi tugs on Tooru's arm to halt him mid-step, turning and slamming him up against the fence they’re passing to press his lips to Tooru's, and Tooru can't help the way he gasps under Iwaizumi's mouth and hands.

It feels like a foregone conclusion the way their mouths fit together, how easily Iwaizumi has become such an ingrained part of Tooru's life almost without him realizing it.

He recovers from the surprise and melts into the touch, relishing the way Iwaizumi tangles his fingers in Tooru's hair, runs his hands down his back and around the curve of Tooru's waist.

Tooru whimpers as Iwa-chan slides his tongue along his bottom lip, and he fists his hands in Iwaizumi's shirt to drag him closer until there isn't space between them anymore. He feels like he's shining from the inside out, like the sunshine in his soul is leaking out of his fingertips.

Iwaizumi pulls back, eyes dark and wide, and says “I've been waiting to do that for a while now.”

“What took you so long?” Tooru asks, daring to put his arms around Iwaizumi's neck, bursting with happiness when he lets him.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I wasn't sure how you felt.”

“And now?”

In answer, Iwaizumi leans back in, slotting their mouths back together, one hand pressing lightly into Tooru's lower back, the other tugging on the strands of his hair that Iwaizumi claims he hates but Tooru knows he secretly loves.

Kissing Iwaizumi feels like everything Tooru has never known he actually wanted.

It feels inevitable.

***

They're thirteen and Iwaizumi is _destroying_ Tooru at Mario Kart. They're sitting on Iwaizumi's bed, legs crossed, and Tooru is nudging Iwa-chan's shoulder every chance he gets in an effort to get him to steer off the track.

Iwaizumi laughs, bright and happy and carefree as he crosses the finish line a second before Tooru. Tooru shoves his shoulder as Iwaizumi raises his hands up in triumph. The motion makes his shirt rise, exposing a strip of skin above the waist of his faded jeans. Tooru's smile slips slightly as he sees the dark purple spreading across what he can see of Iwaizumi's waist.

“Kawa-chan, what are you doing now?” Iwa-chan huffs as Tooru pushes him back on the bed. Before he can stop him Tooru is pushing his shirt up above his ribs, fingers lightly tracing the violent purple splash across his ribs.

“Iwa-chan, what happened?” Tooru breathes. He doesn't know how on earth Iwaizumi got so hurt.

“Don't worry about it, Kawa. I just fell.” He tugs his shirt down, dislodging Tooru's fingers from the soft skin of his stomach.

At thirteen, Tooru doesn't have a reason not to believe him.

Instead, he shoves the controllers off the bed, and pulls a blanket over the both of them. “Let's pretend we're exploring a cave,” he says, and that warmth bubbles up in his chest again when Iwaizumi smiles at him and says “You're afraid of the dark, are you sure you want to be in this cave?”

“I feel brave when Iwa-chan is with me.”

They spelunk for hours until the light fades and Tooru runs home for dinner.

***

They're sixteen and running along the pier, swimsuits sitting low on sharp hipbones.

Tooru hates swimming, hates it even more when it's in a lake and not a pool, when creatures from the deep could grab him and tug him down below the water.

And yet, he still runs right into the water after Iwaizumi because there's nothing to be afraid of with Iwa-chan to protect him.

 

Iwa-chan will always protect him.

  
They're lying in the sand, letting the summer sun and the warm sand dry their dripping bodies.

“Hey, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, watching the clouds make shapes against the summer blue sky. “Do you ever think that you'll fall in love?”

Iwaizumi sighs, and Tooru turns his head, watching the water slide down the lines of his body. For once, he can't see the bright swirls of color that he's become terrifyingly used to seeing on Iwaizumi.

“I don't know. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to love another person.”

Tooru wants to wail “love _me_ , Iwa-chan” but he bites his tongue as the memories swell up. Memories of waiting with Iwa-chan until the locker room has completely emptied of their teammates before he undresses to shower. Of hiding the bruises that mar the smooth planes of his skin from everyone but Tooru. Dozens of memories just like this flood across his eyes in bright splashes of color.

“Not ever?” He asks instead, hand stretching across the sand slowly. He doesn’t ask if Iwaizumi’s dad is still drinking, but he wants to.

Iwaizumi shrugs, a difficult feat when lying on your back. “I think it would take me a while to trust someone enough to hand them my heart.”

“Do you trust me?” Tooru asks as his fingers brush against Iwa-chan's in the sand.

“Of course I do, what kind of a question is that, shittykawa?” He asks gruffly, but his hand flips in the sand palm up so that Tooru can slide his fingers through Iwa-chan's, grains of sand rough between their fingers.

“Sorry,” Tooru whispers as the gentle summer breeze ruffles his hair. He’s apologizing for more than the question, and they both know it.

He doesn't know how long they lie like that in the sand, hands entwined between them, but when Iwaizumi finally gets up and starts collecting their things to head home, he realizes that it's never enough time.

***

Memory is a fickle thing, often not revealing important details until it is too late for those details to be useful. Tooru has never realized how unhelpful that was until the revelations are coming too fast and too late after the damage has already been done and he can't fix it.

If only he had realized it sooner.

***

They’re seventeen and sitting on Iwaizumi’s bed, the warmth of the spring sun lighting the room around them. Tooru is sitting with his legs around Iwaizumi’s waist, his head on his shoulder, listening to the way Iwaizumi breathes deeply, watches the dust motes float around in the beams of sunlight filtering around them.

He runs his hands along the expanse of Iwaizumi’s back, feels the strong muscles there from years of playing outdoors, working with his dad, playing volleyball with Tooru. It’s all there like a map to who Iwaizumi is just under the surface of his skin. Tooru doesn’t need to see it for his fingers to be able to read it, every line and cord of muscle as familiar to him as his own.

And they're too old to pretend that they're pirates and kings, but that's okay because Tooru feels that being what they are to each other is far better than anything he could dream up.

Iwaizumi's hands run along his spine, fingers tracing over the ridges and bumps of Tooru's spine like it holds a secret message just for him.

And it's just them, lost in the silence of the late afternoon and the quiet of the house. Tooru counts the breaths he takes, measuring them against the beat of Iwaizumi's heart that he can feel pounding in time with his own. He wonders if anyone will ever be able to make him feel as wild and free as Iwa-chan does. Wonders if his heart is strong enough to handle the amount of love that consumes him with every touch, glance, slide of skin against skin.

He's shaking with the force of it. Bending under the weight of his emotions as they threaten to break him apart and make him into something new.

Tooru pulls back slightly, lifts his head from Iwaizumi's shoulder to press a kiss to the side of his neck. Iwaizumi's gasp makes the emotion locked inside swell, threatening to spill over and consume him completely.

In the end, he doesn't know who moves in first. The last thing that Tooru remembers before Iwaizumi brings their lips together is the look in his eyes as he meets Tooru's gaze with those swirling brown depths. He can't quite make out the emotion hiding in those molten pools of chocolate brown, but it doesn’t matter because the first brush of his lips sends Tooru over the edge.

He can't help but want to make Iwaizumi understand how much Tooru really cares for him. It's almost too much to handle, and the way Iwaizumi presses back into the kiss, the way he runs his hands up and under Tooru's shirt, fingertips grazing against his skin makes him want to break apart into tiny pieces. He never knew that loving another person could hurt so much in the best possible way.

Tooru understands how important he is to Iwaizumi, understands how he's the only person to show him true affection, perhaps ever, and maybe that's why he pulls Iwaizumi's shirt over his head, pressing him back into the mattress as his hands roam over the firm muscles, toned after long hours of spiking volleyballs and climbing trees with Tooru when he insists on seeing the stars at night.

His mind is nothing but white noise and the repeated murmur of _Iwa-chan_ echoing endlessly as he kisses his way up the smooth lines of his torso, feeling the way Iwaizumi gasps for air under his lips.

When he finally makes his way back to Iwaizumi's lips he's met with a crash of tongues and a need to be _closer,_ every inch between them unwanted. It's Iwaizumi who reaches down first and unzips Tooru's jeans, sliding them off him so that Tooru can kick them the rest of the way off. Tooru whimpers against Iwaizumi's mouth as he runs his hands up the firm lines of Tooru's thighs, over his ass, fingers digging in deeply to the skin of his lower back as he brings Tooru's hips down against his as he grinds up.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, and it's a moan into the silence between them. Iwaizumi rips off Tooru's shirt, a tiny growl surfacing between them as he runs his strong fingers across his torso, counting each rib as they slide along his waist. “I'm going to show you,” Tooru pants, and when Iwaizumi looks confused he elaborates. “I'm going to show you how it feels to be loved, Iwa-chan,” he says, leaning back on his heels to drag his fingers lightly down Iwaizumi's stomach until he flicks the button open on his jeans.

Iwaizumi lifts his hips as Tooru drags them slowly down his hips, kissing the skin of his hipbones as they are exposed. He bites down lightly on the sharp angle of Iwaizumi's hip bone, enjoying the small gasp the bite elicits. Iwaizumi hurries and kicks his pants aside, already struggling to get out of his boxer briefs as Tooru sucks on the spot he just bit, leaving the only mark on Iwa-chan's skin that he ever wants to see again.

Iwaizumi's hands are hot as they pull Tooru back up so that he can slot their lips together, swirling his tongue around Tooru's the second he opens his mouth to Iwaizumi. Iwa-chan's hands don't stop moving, roaming down to play with the waistband of his boxers before sliding his hands underneath to push the material down his hips as his fingers dig into the skin of his ass.

Tooru pulls back, pressing two fingers into Iwaizumi's mouth to coat them in saliva while he shimmies out of his boxers completely, marveling at the frim lines of his Iwa-chan beneath him. Tooru bends down, sucks Iwaizumi into his mouth, making Iwaizumi groan around the fingers Tooru still has in his mouth. He pulls his fingers out of Iwaizumi's mouth, only to reach down and slide them slowly into him. He has to hold Iwaizumi's hips steady with his other hand as Iwaizumi moans at the sensation of Tooru's mouth and fingers.

He tangles his fingers in Tooru's hair, tugs him back up to his mouth to kiss him deeply and tenderly while Tooru continues to move his fingers slowly inside of Iwaizumi. He gasps as Iwaizumi reaches down between them with a hand, gripping them together and slowly sliding his hand around the both of them, until they're both slick and panting into each other's mouths.

“Show me, Tooru,” Iwaizumi pants against his lips. “Show me, please.”

Tooru shifts as he feels his heart swell in his chest, emotions threatening to spill over in the form of tears down his cheeks.

Instead, he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, sliding into Iwaizumi as slowly and carefully as he can to let Iwaizumi relax and adjust around him.

“Iwa-chan,” he moans, pressing his lips into the skin of his neck and leaving a series of open-mouthed kisses up and along the line of Iwaizumi's jaw. “You are so precious to me.” It's as much as he can say without giving everything away. He slides out, then back in again. Iwaizumi's eyelids flutter with the sensation. “You're my best friend and I can't imagine my life without you.”

He continues to whisper seven years’ worth of endearments into Iwaizumi's ears with each slow thrust, pouring as much love and affection into each moment as he possibly can. Every moment, every movement is an explosion of technicolor behind his eyes until the world around him is bleeding an excess of color. Iwaizumi's heart is brightest of all, bleeding bright pigments of blue and red that mix together to drip purple across his skin, painting him in swatches of pain and years of belief that he'll never be loved for who he is.

Tooru wonders how long he'll have to dream until he can heal Iwaizumi's bleeding heart.

He wonders if Iwaizumi can see the colors that swirl around them in the twilight as he shakes around Tooru, breaking and tipping over the edge. He spasms around Tooru, and as Tooru unravels he knows that no one on this earth will ever drive him as wild as Iwaizumi Hajime.


	2. Lost Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy, simple, perfect the way their mouths fit together. Oikawa is his best friend and closest companion and it feels right to lick into his mouth, to tease apart his lips and delve into the warmth of Oikawa's mouth, tangling his hands in the soft and silky strands that he'll never tell Oikawa he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't let the summary fool you, this is a crazy dark chapter. I spend two days in one of the darkest headspaces I've ever been in to write this and it was rough. This is the worst of it, but it's important that you know this chapter is full of abuse, homophobia, and hate-speech. I do not endorse any of those things, but they were a part of the story I'm telling.
> 
> Please be kind to yourselves, I don't want anyone to be triggered or offended by this chapter as that was not my intention at all. Still, I am proud of myself for stretching to write the hard things, issues that I've never had to deal with in my own life. 
> 
> Proceed with caution, and enjoy.

Oikawa's gone, his parents expecting him home for dinner, but Hajime basks in the lingering scent of Oikawa in his room, on his sheets, his skin.

It takes him a while to understand the feeling swirling around in his chest. It took him far too long to realize that he felt more for Oikawa than just friendship. He allows himself a few more moments to bask in the warmth lingering in the sheets, contentment seeping from every pore.

With a sigh, he rolls off his bed, and it takes him a second to find his footing underneath him as his legs shake like a newborn foal’s. Well that’s new. He gets his strength back quickly as he moves around his room, finding a mostly clean pair of sweatpants to throw on and a soft cotton t-shirt. Making dinner is the last thing he wants to do right now, and he briefly considers just running over to Oikawa’s house and cuddling with him the rest of the night.

His door opens before he can think about reaching for the doorknob and his dad walks into the room.

“Otou-san, I didn’t know you were home,” Hajime says, trying not to panic. He never even heard the front door open.

“I saw that Oikawa boy leaving the house again,” his father says in response. He crosses his arms in front of him, and even though he’s not much taller than Hajime, it still makes Hajime feel like he’s and as helpless as he was at age eleven.

“Yeah,” Hajime hedges, unsure as to what his father is getting at. “We were doing some homework together and lost track of time.” He starts to hedge past his father. “I’ll get started on dinner now.”

Before he can move past his father, he reaches out and grips Hajime’s bicep hard enough to bruise. “Do you think I’m stupid?” He seethes, and Hajime can smell the whiskey on his breath and swears, not for the first time, that he’ll never start drinking. “Do you?” He shakes Hajime when he doesn’t answer.

Hajime bows his head like he always does, trying to deescalate the situation away from violence. “No,” he says softly.

“No, what?”

“No, sir,” Hajime breathes, and he hopes that’s the last of it.

His father grunts, shoves him roughly from his room and into the hallway. Hajime wastes no time in moving to the kitchen to prepare dinner while his father wanders into the living room to watch TV.

He breathes a shaky exhale in relief. That had been _too_ close.

***

The first time Hajime is later returning home than he’d said he’d be he’s eleven. He can feel the small smile still lingering on his lips, the warmth of Oikawa-san’s curry lingering in his belly. He forgets, in his contentment, about his father until he’s rolling across the floor of their hallway after walking through the front door, one of his father’s punches catching him in the side just below his ribs.

“Where were you?” His father roars, face red and angrier than Hajime has seen it in recent years.

“I was at Oikawa-chan’s, sir,” he whimpers as he curls in a ball on the floor, protecting his stomach. Those kicks always hurt the worst, and when his father is this red in the face he’s in a mood to use his feet.

“Get up and go to your room, I’m sick of seeing you.” His father’s dismissal of him is sudden and curt.

Hajime slowly gets up. He can’t remember the last time he got away with only one hit. A swift kick to the middle of his back sends him sprawling onto the wood floors of the hallway, the echo of his father’s laugh drifting around him in the growing silence.

He ends up crawling to his room that night.

***

He’s not expecting the way his heart jumps into his throat as he watches Oikawa take one of his spikes straight to the face.

Hajime isn’t expecting a lot of things these days.

He swiftly crosses to the other side of the net to examine Oikawa for himself before he can fully register the action. He can’t help but sigh in relief when he doesn’t feel a break, unreasonably glad this idiot wasn’t hurt.

He teases Oikawa and tries not to think about how his heart is pounding and the tips of his fingers feel burned from where he’d touched Oikawa’s face. He doesn’t know what this sensation is, doesn’t understand why he feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin at the feeling of it.

He itches.

 

The feeling lingers, hovering there, just underneath his skin, long after practice is over and he’s walking home with Oikawa, like always. He tries not to think about Oikawa next to him, talking animatedly about some sort of random astronomy fact.

He’s not expecting the sudden hug when they reach Oikawa’s place. He tenses, sure that Oikawa is going to shove him away in disgust, like when his father hugs him. Instead, he hears the whisper against his neck and fights a shiver at the air brushing his skin. “You’re my best friend, you know that right?”

The burning lingers, but the itch fades away as Oikawa squeezes him tightly. It’s all he can do to grunt in reply, these new sensations causing him to act in strange, confusing ways and wrap his arms around Oikawa. He feels a strange sense of belonging, wrapped around Oikawa as the day fades slowly into night.

 

He’s still reeling from the feeling dancing around between his ribs that lingers from the warmth of the hug, when he walks through the front door, only to have that feeling abruptly replaced with the feeling of all the air being forced out of his lungs.

He catches another blow to his lower back as he bends over, struggling to get his lungs to expand again. “What do you think you were doing, hugging that Oikawa boy like that for the whole world to see?” His father asks angrily, tugging Hajime’s head back sharply by his hair. “What are you, _gay_ or something? Didn’t I teach you better than to be hugging on some pansy ass kid like a fucking _fairy_?” He shoves Hajime forward until he collides roughly with the wall.

Hajime relaxes in a practiced motion, not fighting the collision and letting his body roll away from the wall, minimizing the sting of the impact to his shoulder. He’s not skilled enough to keep the impact from sending him to the floor, considering how off balance he was when he was flung into the wall. Nor is he fast enough to dodge the swift but brutal kick to his ribs.

He feels, more than he hears, the muted _crack_ as one of his ribs gives way under the force of the impact. For the second time in less than a minute, Hajime feels the air depart his lungs in a dizzying rush, this time with a burst of pain so vivid that he sees splashes of red in the corners of his vision. His father huffs and walks away, the onslaught over as suddenly as it started, mumbling, “Boy, you better not be a fucking fag.”

Hajime lays on the floor, a hand held against the left side of his body, as he struggles to get air back into his lungs. He wants to inhale deeply, feel the cool flood of oxygen through his veins, but each tiny breath causes searing pain to erupt through his chest. He doesn’t know how long he lays there in the dark of the hall, coaxing tiny breaths of air into his lungs and willing the muscles in his chest to unbind. He takes a deep breath after a few minutes of coaxing air into his lungs and nearly sobs with the pain that sears down his left side.

He gingerly gets up, trying not to twist his torso or use those muscles and stiffly walks into the kitchen, grabbing an ice pack out of the dozens he keeps in there from the freezer.

His father looks up from where he's frying something on the stove. “You hungry kid?”

Hajime shakes his head. “No, sir. I have homework to do anyway so I'm just gonna head to my room, if that's alright.”

His father doesn't say anything, just turns back around to face the stove. Hajime knows a dismissal when he sees one and heads back into his room, pressing the ice pack to his side. He pulls an apple from his backpack that he grabs from the hallway as he passes by to his room.

He drops the backpack to the floor once in his room, shuts his door, and gingerly lays on his bed before pressing the ice pack against his left side, hoping the pain would fade more before practice tomorrow. He bites into the apple. It's not enough, but it's better than dinner with his father.

***

Hajime is eleven when Oikawa meets his dad for the first time.

They are running around in the summer heat, playing pirates and kings as they wove their way around Hajime's backyard, waving sticks at each other and trying to conquer kingdoms and ships.

“Iwa-chan,” he pants as they take a break from playing to catch their breath, “can I have some water?”

Hajime hesitates, not sure if that would be okay, but he looks at the sweat trickling down Oikawa's face and decides it's worth the risk. “Yeah, come on,” he says, grabbing Oikawa by the hand and dragging him to the back door.

He leads Oikawa in through the back door, into the kitchen and gets him a glass of water, watching for his dad to appear.

“Iwa-chan is so nice!” Oikawa chirps and happily drinks his water.

“Hajime, who's this?”

Hajime feels his spine stiffen under the heavy gaze of his dad. “This is my friend, Oikawa Tooru, sir.” He gestures to Oikawa. “We got hot playing, so we came in for some water.”

“Is that so?” His dad raises an eyebrow, looks over at Oikawa who is smiling sunnily up at him.

“Iwa-chan is so nice!” Oikawa repeats, this time to Hajime's dad. “I always like playing with Iwa-chan, Iwaizumi-san.”

Hajime watches in amazement as his dad smiles down at Oikawa. The last time Hajime saw his dad smile like that was when his mother was still alive.

“I'm glad my son can be such a good playmate for you,” his dad says, and his tone is light, but the hand that lands on Hajime's shoulder is heavy and it clenches around the muscles and bones tightly. Hajime wonders vaguely if it will bruise.

“Ready to go back and play, Kawa-chan?” The sooner he gets Oikawa out of this house the better.

Oikawa chirps happily, nods, and grabs Hajime's hand as he runs out excitedly into the warm summer sun.

Hajime feels his dad watching them every step of the way, can still feel the imprint of his hand burning into his shoulder. The less time Oikawa spends around his dad, the better.

***

Hajime is fourteen the first time he intentionally lies to Oikawa.

He hates it, the way the lie sits heavy on his tongue, bitter and sour. But he does it, lies, so that Oikawa doesn't have to feel bad for him, lies so that Oikawa can stop worrying and focus on school and volleyball.

He can't let his dad's drinking be the reason why Oikawa loses focus and fails the math test they have tomorrow because if he doesn't shut down this line of questioning now, Oikawa will keep digging until he's knee deep in shit he knows nothing about.

He manages, barely, to deflect his way out of the conversation, but he can see the lingering worry in Oikawa's eyes and he knows that it's only dropped for now and that Oikawa is going to be bringing it up when he least expects it with the goal of startling the real answer out of him. He's been through this line of questioning before and he _knows_ his best friend well enough by now.

They finish up their math right as Hajime hears his father's car pull into the driveway. Oikawa kicks it into gear and shoves everything into his backpack in a hurry, intent on being out the back door before Hajime's dad can stagger through the front. Oikawa has only been caught here once, and it's an experience that neither of them wants a repeat of.

Oikawa manages to slip quietly out the back door with a whispered, “Bye, Iwa-chan” right as his father stumbles through the front door.

Hajime doesn't need to smell him to know that he stopped by the bar on his way home from work. Long years of experience keeps him from saying anything, knowing that his father will address him when he wants to acknowledge his presence.

“Get dinner ready, boy,” he slurs, and Hajime leaps into action, quickly throwing together dinner with long years of practice. He's never Hajime when they're alone. It's always 'boy' when his dad is drunk or angry, 'kid' when he's not, and 'son' when he's proud.

Hajime can count on one hand the number of times his father has called him 'son'. He craves his father's approval almost more than he craves food. Aches to hear “I'm proud of you, son” cross his father's lips. It's why he forces himself to jump higher, spike harder, run faster, all in the attempt to earn his father's approval.

He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to do it.

***

Hajime is twelve the first time he tries to stop his dad from doing something reckless. They're at the beach with Oikawa's family and all he sees are the familiar motions of his dad winding up for a punch before he's off, running towards his dad, terrified that he won't reach him in time because his feet keep slipping in the sand as he runs. He crashes into his dad just before he swings, throwing him off balance and making it so that he has to step back to keep from falling over.

“Otou-san, let's just go home,” he says, now tugging on his dad's arm and pulling him away. Hajime should have been keeping track of how many beers his dad was drinking.

The car ride home is silent in the worst kind of way. Hajime's dad is silent, hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything until they get home, and even then, he only speaks to tell Hajime, “Go to your room, I don't want to look at you again today.”

Hajime nods, “Yes, sir,” and bolts for his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He can't remember the last time he escaped from his father without a stinging patch of skin or a new bruise blossoming on his ribs. He crawls under the covers of his bed and spends the night waiting for his dad to come into his room.

When morning comes, he's not sure what's worse, his dad coming in or leaving him alone to wait for the shoe to drop all night.

***

In retrospect, Hajime should have seen it coming. His father never forgets, and he always holds a grudge. He’d been naive to think that his father wouldn’t ask about the rumpled sheets or Oikawa’s late exit from the house. Oikawa always manages to leave before his father gets home, but they’d both been too content in one another’s arms to move until they absolutely had to.

What catches him by surprise is that his father waits until _after_ all the food and dishes have been put away before he slams Hajime into the wall.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” His dad hisses against his ear. “Did you think that I didn’t know that boy was here to _be_ with you? How could you be so stupid and not know by now that I know about _everything_ that happens in this house?”

Hajime panics, horror starting to build as he realizes that his father _knows_ about him and Oikawa, about how their friendship is so much more. Hajime is seventeen years old and he still can’t manage to fight against a father who barely loves him.

He braces for the hit, knowing it is coming.

***

Hajime is seventeen when he works up enough nerve to kiss Oikawa. He pushes him up against a fence and just kisses him. It's terrifying because even though he's pretty certain that the way Oikawa's gaze has started lingering on him during practice, when they study, in classes, means his feelings have changed like Hajime's have. But he could still be wrong.

Oikawa tenses when he presses his lips to his, and in the second it takes him to relax and kiss Hajime back he's died twice and regretted everything. Oikawa's lips moving against his causes a happy burst of warmth in his chest that feels foreign and new.

It's easy, simple, perfect the way their mouths fit together. Oikawa is his best friend and closest companion and it feels _right_ to lick into his mouth, to tease apart his lips and delve into the warmth of Oikawa's mouth, tangling his hands in the soft and silky strands that he'll never tell Oikawa he loves.

A spark flashes down his spine to ignite the embers smoldering in his stomach as Oikawa fists his hands in Hajime's shirt, tugs him closer until Hajime is pressed against him. He shifts to slide his thigh between Oikawa's legs and pulls away from the kiss slightly to say, “I've been waiting to do that for a while now.”

He doesn't know what he's expecting when he says this, but he's not expecting Oikawa to wrap his arms around Hajime's shoulders and whisper, “What took you so long?” Then again, Hajime shouldn't be surprised by anything Oikawa does that doesn't line up with the expectations of others.

He shrugs, “I wasn't sure how you felt.” It's not technically a lie, but he also wouldn't have dared do something if he wasn't fairly certain how Oikawa felt about him. Oikawa wasn't good at being subtle, and while it took Hajime a while to actually catch on, Oikawa had sent him enough lingering glances of longing he'd eventually figured it out.

“And now?” Oikawa asks, somehow managing to look up at him from under his lashes while looking slightly down at him.

Hajime falls back to Oikawa as easily as he falls asleep, pressing one hand to the firm muscles of Oikawa's lower back, reaching up with his other hand to tug at the strands of Oikawa's hair, relishing the way Oikawa moans into his mouth.

Hajime feels like something inside him shifts into place, slotting against the cracked pieces of his heart to form something that's a little more whole.

 

Over dinner that night, his father breaks the silence with “How's volleyball going? Don't you have a game coming up?”

Hajime nods over his food. “Yes, sir, against one of our rival schools.”

“You expect to win?”

“Yes, sir, we've been working really hard and I think this is the best our team has ever been.”

“Good.” His father chews in thought, and the look he levels at Hajime makes his stomach turn in anticipation, beginning to fear whatever was coming next. “When are you going to get a girlfriend, kid?”

Hajime feels his stomach plummet and tries not to think about being pressed up against Oikawa no more than an hour ago. “I don't know, sir, I don't have a whole lot of time between school and practice.”

“You have plenty of time to hang around with that Oikawa kid,” he says, and Hajime begins to feel the stirring of panic flutter around in his stomach. He's suddenly not very hungry.

“Oikawa is my best friend, and lives next door, sir, it's easy to spend time with him because we have so many common interests. Meeting girls is hard.” It's the most he's contradicted his father in recent memory, and he braces for the punishment he knows is coming.

It doesn't come, though, and he looks up to see his father looking at him with a measuring eye. “Well, I'm sure you'll have more time for girls once you leave for college, won't you?”

“Yes, sir,” Hajime says, and tries his hardest not to let his exhale sound like the sigh of relief it really is.

Hajime can't think of a less appealing idea than getting a girlfriend, but he'll never say that out loud to his father.

He's not stupid.

***

He’s thirteen the first time Oikawa notices his bruises. He gets away with a half-truth about falling and Oikawa is satisfied, pushing aside video game controllers and convincing him to explore caves with him.

Hajime watches from his front porch as Oikawa walks home in the dying light of the day. Once he sees Oikawa safely ensconced in his house, he turns back into the darkness of his house. He’s alone, like he always is until his dad comes home, and the house is quiet in the loudest of ways.

Not for the first time, Hajime stretches his memory back to when his mom was still alive and the house was filled with light, laughter, and no expectations of how to be. The memories come to him in bright splashes of color against the grey that his life has become. Brief flashes of making cookies together in the kitchen, dancing to old-time jazz, laughing over a story as she tucks him in to bed. And the memories that hurt the most, memories of his dad coming home and sweeping them both up into a giant hug, of teaching a three-year-old Hajime how to tie a tie and patting him on the head when he does it right on his own. Those memories hurt the most.

He wanders back to his room, the sheets of his bed rumpled from playing with Oikawa. His room seems dimmer without Oikawa in it, like the boy has a sort of brightness that emanates from him and fills every room he’s in with light and happiness. Without him the room seems dark and foreign, and he wonders if Oikawa were here if he could be brave too, and not be afraid of the dark.

***

Hajime doesn’t know what it is about lying on the sand that’s so relaxing, but he feels as if he could sink down into the warmth and never move again.

Oikawa’s hand in his between them doesn’t help, and he tries to understand why his stomach is jumping up his throat every time Oikawa tightens his hand around Hajime’s. He feels warm from the inside out, and he doesn’t think that’s all because of the summer sun beating down on their still damp bodies.

With a stunning, horrifying realization he understands that he’s gay. He knows, has known, really, that he wasn’t straight for a long time, wondered for the first time at fifteen when his father broke his rib at the _threat_ of him being gay. But now, with Oikawa’s hand woven tightly with his, he _knows_.

He accepts this new reality and vows to never speak of it to anyone in a single breath.

Except…

He looks over at Oikawa who is relaxed, eyes closed against the brightness of the sun, and considers telling him. It’s on the tip of his tongue, the ‘ _hey Oikawa, I’m gay,’_ would be so easy to say into the tranquil silence between them. He could, and it would be fine because Oikawa is his best friend, but what if Oikawa told his parents and then they mentioned it to his father? As used to it as he is, Hajime does not like having cracked and broken ribs, so he bites down on his tongue and gets up, gently pulls his hand out of Oikawa’s to gather their things.

It's just not worth the risk.

***

Hajime is seventeen when Oikawa shows him what it means to be adored, treasured, _loved_. Hajime is _seventeen_ , when he finally understands that he doesn’t have to be alone, that he can have someone in his life who will care for him, understand him, and love him without hurting him.  

Hajime is seventeen the first time his father punches him in the face, hard enough to leave a bruise the world can see. Hajime has never known his father to be so angry, so full of rage than he is right now. He fists his hands in the front of Hajime’s shirt and screams, “I will not have any _son_ of mine found warming the bed of another man.”

He sends Hajime flying and for one breathless moment he’s suspended, before he crashes into a wall. He doesn’t have time to get up before his father is on him, the blows landing everywhere and anywhere until Hajime is nothing more than a ball on the floor, eyes screwed shut against the pain.

He’d thought he’d known the worst it could get. He is wrong.

“If I _ever_ see him here again, I’ll kill you both,” his father shouts, punctuating the statement with a swift kick to Hajime’s stomach. He leaves Hajime lying on the floor and returns to the living room, the dull noise of the TV winding though the silence of the house.

Hajime drags himself slowly to his feet, managing to make it back to his bed before collapsing. For the first time since his mom died, Hajime cries. He sobs into sheets that still smell like Oikawa, clutching a pillow to his chest as he feels the pieces of his heart that Oikawa so lovingly put back together start to fracture apart again.

It’s a worse agony than the dull throbbing of his muscles, the pain in his cheekbone from the blow to his face.

***

He’s helping his dad in the yard when he next sees Oikawa. He rushes over to Oikawa before his dad can start to move in an attempt to fix the situation before it gets worse. Hajime feels his heart start to fragment as Oikawa lights up, a bright smile beaming across his face and a soft look of happiness in his eyes.

Hajime has spent his whole life protecting Oikawa from his dad; keeping that light that shines from Oikawa undimmed by the shadow of his father. He can’t stop now.

“Oikawa,” he says when Oikawa is close enough to hear him. “You need to leave.”

He knows the second Oikawa registers the purple smear across his cheekbone, watches as Oikawa’s eyes widen in horror as the pieces fall into place. “Iwa-chan,” he breathes, reaching out to brush his fingers across Hajime’s cheekbone tenderly.

“Don’t touch me!” Hajime snaps as he slaps Oikawa’s hand away. He doesn’t look at Oikawa, but he still sees the look of hurt flash across his face.

“Iwa-chan, what happened?” Oikawa asks, reaching out to place a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”

Hajime shoves Oikawa away and feels his heart break apart finally as he says, “Leave, Oikawa, and don’t come back.”

Hajime has spent his whole life protecting Oikawa, but this is the first time it has hurt him to do it.

Oikawa gapes at him, too shocked to even look hurt. “What?” He breathes, eyes wide and staring.

“Go away, and don’t come back. Ever.” Hajime gives him one last shove and turns around before he falls apart in the face of Oikawa’s devastation. He knows when Oikawa leaves by the look of satisfaction on his father’s face.

Hajime looks back. Watching Oikawa walk away feels inevitable.

***

The remainder of Hajime’s senior year is the worst four months of his life. He sees Oikawa everywhere, of course he does, in class, on the court, walking home. He’s careful, always careful, that nobody sees them interacting, that the only time he speaks to Oikawa or registers Oikawa speaking to him is on the volleyball court.

But even that’s ruined.

Oikawa still calls to him for spikes, but it’s with a curt “Iwaizumi-kun” and an empty look that he does. Hajime hates the way ‘Iwaizumi-kun’ sounds coming off Oikawa’s tongue. It doesn’t sound right at all.

It’s four months of agony and all he wants to do is move out and go to college, get away from his father and the one thing that could have made him happy but was taken from him because he wasn’t strong enough to fight for it.

 

He moves out. Packs up everything he owns and takes it with him to a school in the city, as far away from his father as he can get without leaving the country.

He gets to his dorm before his roommate and picks a side, putting clothes in drawers and on hangars, sheets onto the bed and his volleyball bag underneath. He’s organizing his desk when he registers the sound of keys sliding into the lock and the door opening.

“Hey, I’m Iwaizumi Hajime,” he says without looking up from the tangle of cables he’s trying to sort out. A bag is dropped to the floor. The door swings shut. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the left side.” When he doesn’t get an answer he finally looks up.

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter is going to be a lot lighter, with a lot less violence and hate. And please, if you know someone who is being abused, help them. Nobody should have to go through that. 
> 
> Thank you so much for every comment, kudo and hit. It means the world to me and I'm so honored that you've taken the time to read this. 
> 
> As always, you can find me here: [Tumblr](https://mysoulrunswithwolves.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfstar_soul)


	3. Talk Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oikawa, I’m...” Iwaizumi starts, hesitates, seems like he’s at a loss for words.
> 
> “It’s fine, Iwaizumi,” Tooru cuts him off. “I understand.”
> 
> “I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi breathes, regret falling from him like leaves from trees in the fall.
> 
> Tooru finally manages to look up at him and he can see the pain in his eyes he’s been keeping locked away for who knows how long. “I know, Iwaizumi. Me too.” And he gets up, walks over to his bags and begins to put clothes into drawers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so hard to write. It took me so long to figure out how to end this right, but I finally figured it out and I'm proud of the end result. Thank you for you patience, and I hope it is worth the wait!

Tooru can’t breathe.

He’s hearing the words Iwaizumi is saying, watching the way Iwaizumi is pushing him away and feels every single word slam into his heart as he hears his precious Iwa-chan spit, “Leave, Oikawa, and don’t come back.”

He hears a strangled “what?” slip past his lips and vaguely wonders how he managed to get that much air to speak.

“Go away, and don’t come back. Ever.”

Tooru is blinded by his love for Iwaizumi like he’s blinded by the late afternoon sun that frames Iwaizumi, softening his edges and giving him an ethereal glow. It’s the cruelest image, watching his best friend and almost-lover walk away from him framed by the sun they’ve spent so many days playing under.

He’s blinded by the sun framing Iwaizumi and doesn’t see it until he’s turned around halfway to walk away, but the satisfied smirk on Iwaizumi-san’s face makes Tooru want to scream, run, hit something at the realization that _his_ happiness is being denied by the man whose grasp on his son is so tight it’s suffocating him.

Somehow, he makes it home before the tears come, the sobs ripping out of him so forcefully he coughs and his lungs feel like they’re on fire. He collapses against his mother when his legs give out from under him and her terror is evident as she runs her hands up and down his back, pulling him to the couch and holding him to her as he sobs. Tooru can’t remember the last time he cried.

“Tooru-chan, what’s wrong?” And Tooru knows she’s worried now, she hasn’t called him ‘Tooru-chan’ in years.

And he tries; tries to force the words out past the choked feeling in his throat, past the tears and the heartache suffocating him, but the only thing he can manage to say is ‘Iwa-chan’ over and over.

She doesn’t ask again, just pulls him closer to cradle his head to her chest, pulling his legs across her lap and wrapping her arms around him tightly and really, he’s much to big for this. But he relaxes against her and fists his hands in the soft fabric of her sweater because his Iwa-chan was so casually ripped away from him and he feels like there’s a bleeding hole in the middle of his chest where his heart used to be. He watches as the colors of their friendship and his love for Iwa-chan drip and ooze from him with each new sob and his world fades from the bright technicolor of dreams realized to the dull grey of dreams you once held in your hand only to watch them be taken away.

It’s like this that he finally manages to calm down enough to drift off into sleep, but when he wakes again it’s only to realize that the world is just as grey as it was when he closed his eyes.

 

Tooru can’t wait for school to end. Each day he has to go to school and volleyball and see Iwaizumi and pretend like nothing is wrong. Pretend that they just had a falling out—friends drift apart all the time in high school, that’s how it goes—and if Tooru starts to spend more time with the admiring girls who follow him around school with stars in their eyes, then, well, he’s just finally making time for a girlfriend, isn’t he.

The worst is volleyball.

He has to fight every instinct to throw tosses to Iwaizumi because with every toss he calls ‘Iwaizumi-kun’ instead of ‘Iwa-chan’ and it rips away the scab in his chest every time, the pain as vibrant and aching as it was the day Iwaizumi pushed him away.

 

He’s given a scholarship to a university in the city for volleyball and accepts it immediately. He’s one step closer to the national team and one step farther away from the last place he was happy.

He walks up to the student dorms and thinks that maybe, _maybe_ now that he’s finally away from that toxic town and those toxic people he can move on, be happy again and learn to love someone else.

Maybe now he can finally move on and get over his love for Iwaizumi.

He struggles for a moment to get his keys into the lock, shrugging his duffle bags higher on his shoulders as he tries to juggle keys, bags and boxes all at once. Why does he have so many _clothes_.

It takes him a second to shuffle his things in the door, distantly hears his roommate talking, probably introducing himself—he _really_ could not care less—and Tooru looks up at his new roommate and feels the smile freeze on his face.

His eyes sweep over the familiar form of Iwaizumi, bent over his desk, forehead creased as he struggles to untangle a knot of chords.

Tooru knows he’s been silent too long when Iwaizumi finally looks up at him and _flinches_ in shock. “Hey, Iwa-chan.” The words fall heavy into the silence between them and Tooru just drinks in everything about Iwaizumi. He spent the whole summer after their senior year making a marked effort to avoid Iwaizumi at all costs. His eyes travel over the sun-bronzed skin, the added bulk to his arms and torso from working with his dad. He drinks in the sharp lines of his face, the way his cheekbones look a little sharper, his mouth a little firmer as Iwaizumi frowns at him in shock.

“Hey, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi chokes out finally, and Tooru remembers with a flash of agony so physical he sees purple smear across the canvas of his vision in bright streaks that it was _Iwaizumi_ who did this.

“The right side is fine,” Tooru says, and turns his back to Iwaizumi as he drags his bags to the other side of the room and begins to unpack. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even acknowledge Iwaizumi’s presence in the room because, how can he?

Except.

His memory supplies him with another image, one he has almost managed to forget, of Iwaizumi’s dad smirking while Iwaizumi pushes him away. He knows, _knows_ , that this isn’t what Iwaizumi wants; that it was never his choice, really.

His memory starts replaying moments across their friendship and with each new memory Tooru breaks a little more.

There’s the time, one of hundreds, when Iwaizumi hangs back and waits to shower after practice until the rest of the team have gone home, only to reveal the scariest patches of black, green, purple, blue and red marring his skin that Oikawa has ever seen on a kid as young as they are.

Or the month when they were fifteen where Iwaizumi could barely go up for a spike because—and Tooru feels the sting of tears behind his eyes at this—the left side of his body is a violent splash of red and black. Tooru remembers running his fingers over the bruises painting his side the first time he’d seen it and breathing ‘Iwa-chan, this isn’t from a fall,’ only to have Iwaizumi shrug off his concern with a simple ‘my dad drinks too much.’

Dozens of memories like this flood him, and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until Iwaizumi is in front of him and reaching out to brush a tear from his cheek. It all comes crashing together in one sudden realization that knocks his feet out from under him as he collapses on his freshly made bed. “You did it because of your dad, didn’t you,” he says into the terrible silence between them.

Tooru doesn’t need Iwaizumi to answer to know he’s right. Part of him feels silly that it took him so long to figure it out in the first place. Of course it was his dad. Why else would Iwaizumi make such an effort for Oikawa to never be seen by his father.

“Oikawa, I’m...” Iwaizumi starts, hesitates, seems like he’s at a loss for words.

“It’s fine, Iwaizumi,” Tooru cuts him off. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi breathes, regret falling from him like leaves from trees in the fall.

Tooru finally manages to look up at him and he can see the pain in his eyes he’s been keeping locked away for who knows how long. “I know, Iwaizumi. Me too.” And he gets up, walks over to his bags and begins to put clothes into drawers.

The silence between them stretches and tightens until it’s a humming, tangible thing.

It remains unbroken for weeks.

***

It’s been a month and Tooru can’t take the silence anymore. The only time he’s dared speak to Iwaizumi is in volleyball, but even then, they’re rarely on the same side in practice matches and Tooru can never seem to find the right words.

He craves _something, anything_ but Iwaizumi has never been the talkative one of the two of them and it’s always been up to Oikawa to talk, to fill the spaces between them with chatter and laughter. The pressure to do the same again weights on him and he waits for the right moment to break this stalemate between them.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to wait until Iwaizumi learns that it's not too late, that this broken thing between them can still be fixed.  


It’s fitting, then, that the first interaction between them isn’t a word, but a touch.

 

Tooru returns to the dorm late, stressed, and exhausted from his day. He’s spent the last five hours in the library writing a paper and his body craves sleep like a druggie craves a hit. He enters their room as quietly as he can, aware that Iwaizumi went to sleep hours ago and is certainly asleep by now.

He quickly strips down and throws on a cotton shirt and his favorite pair of grey sweatpants and is about to crawl in bed when he hears it: a quiet whimper in the darkness.

He freezes, halfway into his bed, and listens for the sound. It comes again a few seconds later, louder this time and with a definite note of distress. Tooru looks over slowly to where Iwaizumi lays curled on his side, facing away from Tooru, facing the wall.

Tooru stands, petrified. In the month they’ve been living together, Iwaizumi has never had a dream that caused him to make noise in his sleep. The silence reigns for another long moment, long enough that Tooru is about to crawl all the way into bed and go to sleep, when Iwaizumi chokes out a strangled _‘no please don’t!’_ and Tooru is across the room and hovering over Iwaizumi in the space of a heartbeat.

Iwaizumi is crying in his sleep, silent tears streaking across his cheeks and into the pillow and Tooru reacts on instinct, smoothing his hands gently across the planes of Iwaizumi’s back, stroking a hand across his forehead and through his hair. He’s desperate to rid Iwaizumi of the deep crinkles in his forehead that scream distress.

Iwaizumi flinches under his touch, letting out a sharp ‘no, stop!’ in his sleep, and Tooru doesn’t know what to do. Iwaizumi is a heavy sleeper, Tooru knows it would be hard to wake him up, and so he does the only thing he can think of to make Iwaizumi feel safe again in the realm of sleep. He lifts the covers and crawls in, pressing his chest up against Iwaizumi’s back and wrapping his arm around his waist.

Tooru can feel the tremors in Iwaizumi’s body, can feel the way he’s shaking and his muscles are tense when he’s supposed to be relaxed in sleep. Tooru presses his nose in the soft strands of Iwaizumi’s hair and they’re longer than they used to be.

Gradually, slowly, Iwaizumi’s tremors get softer and slower, until they’ve stopped completely. Tooru presses his hand to Iwaizumi’s chest, feeling as his heart rate slows from the rapid pace it had been. Only then, when Iwaizumi’s breathing and heart rate have slowed back to the deep and even beats that come with heavy sleep does Tooru allow sleep to finally take him, pulling him down into the warmth and peace, the smell of Iwaizumi lingering with him and following him into the land of dreams.

***

Hajime wakes slowly, easily, just before he knows his alarm is going to go off. It’s quiet in the room, and very, very warm. He’s drifting again in that place of semi-awareness when he feels someone shift slightly behind him. It comes slowly still, the realization that someone is pressed up against him in the bed, their arm wound tightly across his chest. He looks down and sees the long, slender fingers of Oikawa pressed right up against his heart.

It’s at this moment that his brain offers up the memory of his father threatening to kill Oikawa if he ever sees them together again, and even if the threat is far away and out of reach, Iwaizumi still reacts on instinct, jolting awake and shoving Oikawa away from him so forcefully that Oikawa rolls off the bed and onto the floor with a shriek loud enough to wake the dead and probably half of their dorm.

“Iwa-chan you brute!” He shrieks from the floor, and it’s the first thing he’s heard Oikawa say in weeks and it’s so absurd that this, _this_ is their first interaction that he laughs out loud. He leans on his elbow and peers over the edge of his bed into the glaring face of Oikawa, who is sprawled on the floor and rubbing the back of his head.

“Sorry,” Hajime says through a chuckle. “In my defense, I woke up with someone in my bed who wasn’t there when I fell asleep.”

“You were having a nightmare!” Oikawa says in outrage. “What did you expect me to do, let you suffer?”

Hajime feels his dream rush back at Oikawa’s words and shudders. It had been a bad one from when he was little and didn’t yet know how to protect the spots the would hurt the worst. He shakes it off and says, “Just wake me up next time.”

“Like you ever would. Do you know how heavy of a sleeper you are?” He must look at Oikawa blankly in response because Oikawa just huffs and says, “I’ve literally played music out loud all night while writing a paper and you didn’t stir once. There was one time when Yaku came over to borrow my stapler after you’d gone to bed and we had a conversation at normal speaking volume for almost an hour and you didn’t even _move_.”

Hajime sighs. “Fine, just,” he pauses, trying to find a way to tell Oikawa to keep his distance without sounding like an ass. “Don’t do it again, okay?”

Hajime feels like he’s kicked a puppy when he sees the hurt flash across Oikawa’s face. “Sure thing, Iwaizumi-kun,” Oikawa says softly, getting up and grabbing his things for a shower. Hajime regrets saying anything, especially since he knows he wants nothing more than to pull Oikawa back into bed with him and into his arms.

A dull ache spreads out from the center of his chest, throbbing all the way to the tips of his fingers and he _hates it._ He’s desperate to make the aching stop, but he doesn’t know where to start.

By the time he’s worked up enough nerve to say, “Oikawa, wait,” he’s already halfway out the door and he doesn’t wait for Iwaizumi to finish, letting the door close with a quiet _snick_ behind him that seems louder than thunder in the silence he leaves behind.

The worn and scattered pieces of his heart splinter.

 

Hajime fights with the ghost of his’s father’s touch for another month. By day he attends classes, does his homework, and plays volleyball, but by night he’s plagued by the dreams that are really just memories from when his father caught him off guard, unprepared, or worse, woke him up, with a stinging slap or punch over something that he’d failed to do right, again. He knows, objectively, that his father is far away from him, that he hasn’t answered a single call from his father in the two months he’s been at college, that his father cannot tell him what to do any longer.

Hajime is free to do whatever he wants for the first time in his life. He can stay out as late as he wants, be friends with whoever he wants, _love,_ whoever he wants and yet. But when he closes his eyes at night his father is waiting for him, always ready to hand out punishment regardless of whether or not he deserves it.

Sometimes he wakes himself up, a scream just about to slip past his lips as he sits upright in bed so fast his head spins, and finds Oikawa watching him from where he’s studying at his desk, the room dimly lit by a single desk lamp. “You okay?” Oikawa always asks softly.

“Yeah,” Hajime breathes, never willing to tell Oikawa about the demons he battles in his sleep. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Oikawa breathes before turning back to his homework. But Hajime can see by the look in his eyes that he doesn’t believe him for a second, and maybe that’s why Hajime finally stops actively pushing him away; why when the next time Oikawa asks if he’s alright after he wakes up screaming he says, “No, not really,” and watches Oikawa nod slowly before turning back to his homework. 

 

The next really bad night he has comes just before finals, three and a half months after school started, and it’s the kind of dream you’re trying desperately to wake yourself up from but you can’t, no matter how hard you struggle, until the dream is done with you.

It’s fitting, then, that the dream is about his father.

He’s fifteen again and his father throws him against the wall in anger before kicking him in the ribs where he lies on the ground. Just like it happened all those years ago, he hears the _snap_ as his rib gives way and the bright burst of pain in his side. Unlike when it actually happened, this time Oikawa is there, rushing to stand over Hajime protectively.

Hajime watches in abject horror as his father kicks Oikawa’s right knee in from the side. Oikawa collapses in front of him, screaming in pain, and clutches at his knee. Hajime is helpless, unable to stop his father as he winds up and delivers another punishing hit to Oikawa’s face.

It’s when his father grabs a shard of glass from a broken picture and dives for Oikawa that Hajime finally manages to jerk himself awake. He leaps out of bed in a panic and rushes across their room, desperate to know that Oikawa is alright.

He yanks off Oikawa’s blankets, ignores the sleepy protests completely and feels along Oikawa’s legs in the dark until he finds his right knee, heaving a relieved sigh when the knee is whole and undamaged.

“Iwa-chan, what’s wrong, are you okay?” Oikawa asks sleepily, sitting up on his elbows and looking up at Hajime quizzically.

It’s this, the sight of Oikawa only caring about whether or not he’s okay that finally breaks him apart. “I…I…” he stutters, and feels the burn of tears behind his eyes. “I had a dream that my father…that he…and your knee,” he knows he’s not making sense, but he can’t make the words form and shape the words necessary to describe the horrors he just lived through in his head.

In the end, it doesn’t matter because Oikawa takes his hands off his knee and pulls him into his bed. Hajime doesn’t fight it, instead he allows Oikawa to pull him in, shifting until his back is against the wall so that Hajime can crawl under the sheets and press his nose into Oikawa’s chest, reveling in the feeling of him whole and unharmed beside him.

“Talk when you’re ready,” Oikawa breathes into the quiet, and Hajime wraps his arm tightly around Oikawa, pressing him closer to him and pinning his own arm to Oikawa’s chest between them, feeling the steady beat of Oikawa’s heart as he centers himself around it.

Oikawa is completely still beside him, arms limp around Hajime as he allows Hajime to seek comfort in his arms without actively giving it. “It was a nightmare,” Hajime finally whispers into the warm darkness. He continues when Oikawa stays silent. “I was fifteen again, and it was the night my father broke one of my ribs. You remember, don’t you, how I couldn’t spike for a month?” Oikawa nods in answer, and Hajime presses on. “It happened just like it did in real life, except after he kicked me you jumped in front of me to keep him from hurting me anymore,” Hajime feels a tear leak out the corner of one eye and fights to keep his voice steady.

“I couldn’t do anything except watch as he broke your knee, ending your career in volleyball, and dove at you with a piece of glass.” Tears are spilling quickly from his eyes beyond his control, and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away. “I have been trying to protect you from him my entire life, keep just one thing untainted by him, and I’ve failed on both accounts.”

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers brokenly, and he wraps his arms around Hajime and holds him tightly, pressing his lips to the skin of his forehead gently. Hajime feels the scattered pieces of his heart start to slide slowly closer together with the returned embrace. “He can’t hurt you anymore, and he’ll never be able to hurt me.”

“Oikawa,” Hajime chokes, somehow managing to speak past the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to take that risk. I can’t lose you. Not again.”

But Oikawa shakes his head, rubs soothing circles into his back. “Sleep, Iwa-chan. We’ll talk about this when finals are over.”

Hajime lets Oikawa soothe him back into sleep, feels the steady rhythm of Oikawa’s heart beneath his fingers and drifts back into the warmth and comfort of a dreamless sleep.

 

Things settle and ease between them, and Hajime feels a sudden lack of tension, feels something loosen in his chest that he didn’t realize was there until it’s gone. He feels lighter, breathes easier when Oikawa is with him and it’s not the same as it was, but it’s closer to the ease they used to have.

 

It’s late. Hajime is almost asleep when he feels Oikawa crawl into bed beside him. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers into the stillness.

“What,” Hajime breathes, still not fully convinced he’s not dreaming.

“Are you staying here for the break?” he asks into the darkness.

“Yeah,” he says. Hajime reaches out and searches for Oikawa’s hands in the space between them without opening his eyes. “It's better than going home.” His fingers find their way in between Oikawa's.

“Come back with me,” Oikawa says after a pause. He moves closer, one of his legs slipping between Hajime's as he minimizes the space between them. “Come and stay with me and my parents. They would love to see you again.”

Hajime considers, tries to ignore the fluttering in his stomach at Oikawa's closeness. The last thing he wants to do is encounter his father again. He reaches out and slowly, gingerly, pulls Oikawa to him until their chests are pressed together, their already entwined hands pinned between them. Hajime feels the soft, featherlike strands of Oikawa's hair tickle the tip of his nose and feels complete for the first time in almost a year. “I don't want to see my dad again,” he pauses, and Oikawa tenses up in the time it takes him to finish his thought. “But I want to be away from you even less.”

Oikawa relaxes all at once, going boneless around Hajime, making him realize how tense Oikawa has been the entire time.

“It's my turn to protect you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, and it's a promise whispered into the quiet of the room.

***

Tooru can’t breathe.

There’s this burning, aching feeling blossoming from his chest and he can’t seem to take a deep breath around it. He wishes he could blame the feeling on finals, but he took his last one hours ago and the feeling is still lingering in all the empty places between his ribs.

He knows what this is. It’s not the first time he’s been left breathless by Iwaizumi, and for better or worse, he knows it won’t be the last.

 

He’s sitting on his bed, waiting for Iwaizumi to finish up his finals, when it hits.

The attacks are few and far between, but they all come on differently and Tooru is never prepared, never sees them coming.

This time the wave of anxiety hits so swiftly he’s knocked off his feet and dragged into the deep by the undertow. He feels his heartrate double, his hands start to shake, and he curls onto his side on his bed. His breathing echoes loudly in his ears, like he’s underwater, and he fights to get enough air into his lungs.

A detached, calm part of his brain notes that this is probably because Tooru convinced Iwaizumi to spend the break with him and his parents back home. His brain unhelpfully points out that it’s because of Tooru that Iwaizumi is going to be within reach of his father for the first time in _months,_ just when he’d stopped having nightmares every night and finally started reaching back out to Tooru.

His brain is not helping.

This is how Iwaizumi finds him, curled on his side in bed in a sweating, shaking mess. “Oikawa, what’s wrong?” There is panic in his voice, like he wants desperately to make it stop but doesn’t know how. His hands hover over Tooru fretfully, not sure whether he should touch him or not. Evidently, he decides to touch him as his hands settle on Tooru, one on his back, the other tangling through the strands of his hair.

“Iwa. Iwa we can’t go back,” Tooru feels the words rush from between his lips in a flood of emotion. “I’m…call my parents…tell them we have extra practices over the break.”

“No, what?” Iwaizumi sits on the bed next to him. “Oikawa, they haven’t seen you in months, of course we’re going.” His hand moves in steady circles against Tooru’s back.

It’s not helping.

“But…your dad, and…so much _pain_ ,” he gasps, aware that he’s not translating thoughts to words very well, but he can’t think much beyond the suffocating panic creeping its way up his throat. Behind him, he’s aware that Iwaizumi has stilled, and he wonders if he’ll push him away again, just walk away and let him deal with his panic on his own.

Instead he feels the bed shift as Iwaizumi lays down behind him and presses against him from behind, a hand wrapping around him to press against his rapidly beating heart. For the first time in an hour, Tooru takes a full, deep breath.

As he exhales, he makes a visible effort to relax his muscles, slow his breathing, and steady his hands. He focuses on Iwaizumi’s steady and even breathing behind him, matches the pace until his heart rate drops down to a normal pace. Iwaizumi remains quiet, waiting for him to break the silence between them first. “I’m scared of what will happen if your dad finds out you’re back in town and staying with my family. I don't want to see you hurt again when you've been safe for so long.” He feels his throat tighten in that terrible way it does just before he cries and he _really_ doesn't want to cry because he knows he's an ugly crier. “I said I would protect you but I don't know if I am _strong_ enough on my own.”

He feels Iwaizumi nod against his back before he feels a soft press of lips to the bare skin of his neck. “Should the worst happen, we'll deal with it like we deal with everything.”

Tooru laughs, but it's really more of a sob. “And how's that?” he manages to choke out, the words slightly garbled through the tears he's fighting.

“Together,” Iwaizumi says simply.

Tooru feels his heart swell with light and he feels brighter than he's felt in months. He wonders if all this time spent dreaming has really been long enough to fix the bleeding heart beating against his back. He relaxes into Iwaizumi, relishing the warmth emanating from him. “What do you mean, Iwa-chan?” Tooru asks, hardly daring to believe. Surely, after all this time, it's not this simple, this easy to fall back against Iwaizumi like he'd never left at all. Surely it's not this easy for Iwaizumi to heal and come back to him.

“I mean, that we're stronger together, so why the _hell_ did we ever let anything tear us apart.”

Tooru tries to hold back the tears but they won't be stopped and they fall from his eyes in a small cascade of blue. He rolls over and flings his arms around Iwaizumi, burying his head in the space between shoulder and neck like it was meant to be there all along. With each shuddering sob, he feels the last of the greyness in his life bleed away, and when he manages to look up at Iwaizumi the world is painted in bright technicolor again, rainbows refracting around the room through the prisms of his tear-filled eyes.

Iwaizumi looks at him and gives him his own watery smile. Slowly, like he's afraid that if he moves too quickly Tooru will shatter apart in his arms, he reaches up and cups Tooru's face to bring their lips together.

It feels like taking his first breath of fresh air after being underground for years, the way their lips slot together, as if there had only been hours and not months separating each kiss. He considers himself lucky, really, that he had forgotten how easy it is to kiss Iwaizumi, how when he runs his tongue along Iwaizumi's bottom lip it's as natural as breathing.

Tooru whines when Iwaizumi licks into his mouth, overloads with the feelings of a longing so intense finally being satisfied after months of not realizing just how much he's missed this.

He shakes when Iwaizumi rolls him onto his back, his hands running up the smooth skin of his torso and pulling his shirt over his head. It's so easy to let Iwaizumi dictate the pace, to let him trail his lips slowly down the ridges that he's made of, tracing the definitions with his tongue like he's trying to memorize them. Tooru is suddenly desperate to see Iwaizumi, to run his hands along that smooth skin because only getting to do it once was _not enough_. He yanks Iwaizumi's shirt over his head and gasps when all he can see of Iwaizumi is the smooth, lean lines of his torso moving beneath tan skin.

Beneath beautiful, _unmarred_ skin.

He bends as Iwaizumi rids them both of the rest of their clothes and then it's skin on skin, the sensations causing his heart to glow with happiness and heat to pool in his stomach.

He breaks when Iwaizumi slides down around him, the sensations of filling and being filled too much to handle in a single moment. Iwaizumi bends down to capture his mouth with his own, tongue moving in and out of Tooru's mouth in time with his movements on top of him.

He's helpless beneath Iwaizumi. It's all he can do to fist one hand his hair, grip his hip with his other hand and meet Iwaizumi, thrust for thrust until they're both shaking and moaning with the emotions humming between them in a swirling, vibrant clash of color.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi moans into his mouth, breathless and aching around him. “ _Tooru_ , I've missed you so much.”

Tooru knows, finally, that he's managed to dream Iwaizumi's heart back together. No longer is it bleeding dark colors of blue and red, but instead it's shining bright like his own, their hearts matching each other's in dying winter light. “Iwa-chan,” he cries, finally unraveling as Iwaizumi presses hot and tight around him. “Hajime,” he whispers between them, tenderly touching a hand to the sharp lines of his face, and that's all it takes before Iwaizumi is shattering around him, bursting with light and happiness.

When they finally separate, it's only so that Tooru can press them both together, his head tucked in against Iwaizumi's shoulder, and breathe in tandem with Iwaizumi.

He's at the edge of sleep, the point just before you fall over the edge into dreams, when he hears “I love you, Tooru.”

He smiles as sleep takes him down into the warmth of unconsciousness.

***

Hajime has never been more nervous in his life.

Oikawa's parents had picked them up from the train station, and if they’re surprised to see him again after so long, they don't show it.

“Iwaizumi-kun,” Oikawa's mom says, wrapping him in a tight, warm hug. “It's so good to see you again, dear.” She releases him and steps back, looking at him with a critical eye. “Let's get you home and fed, you look too thin.”

Behind him, Oikawa squawks, “What about me? Kaasan I'm your _son.”_

“Oh, you're fine,” she says, brushing away his concern like cobwebs in the corners of the room. “Iwaizumi-kun needs it more than you anyway.”

Hajime snickers as Oikawa sputters in indignation, his father patting him consolingly on the back. “Come on boys, dinner is waiting.”

 

Hajime forgets what a normal family life is like. It's a foreign and strange feeling for him, this sense of belonging somewhere. Perhaps the strangest thing is Oikawa's mother, constantly hugging him and touching him tenderly. It's a touch he's never known really, the touch of a mother, and while it's strange at first, as the days pass in the Oikawa home he finds that he craves them more and more.

Hajime finds a peace with Oikawa's family that he's never before had in his life. He doesn't have to worry here, about being ambushed, struck when he least expects it, or knocked around without warning. For the first time in months, he goes an entire week without a nightmare, although Oikawa sneaking into his bed every night may also factor into that.

It isn't until halfway through the break that the peace is abruptly shattered.

 

They're eating dinner when a harsh pounding at the front door makes them all look towards the hallway.

Hajime's stomach drops and he _knows_ who it is even before Oikawa's father gets up to answer the door. Oikawa's hand finds his under the table and laces their fingers together, squeezing gently.

“Where is my son?” His father yells, and Hajime can see the way both Oikawa and his mother finch at the unmasked anger in his voice.

Hajime doesn't know if he feels worried or not by how calmly Oikawa-san says, “He's here. He's spending the break with us.”

Hajime can't see his father's face from here, but he doesn't have to in order to know exactly what expression he's making. There's a sound of a scuffle and then Hajime is looking at his dad for the first time since he left for college without looking back. He doesn't know what it was that he expected, but it's definitely not that _nothing_ has changed about his father. He's exactly as he remembered him in his nightmares.

“Hello, sir,” he says out of habit. Under the table, his fingers are going numb with the strength of Oikawa's grip on his hand.

“What do you think you're doing, boy?” His father seethes at him, slowly walking over to the table.

“I'm spending the break with the Oikawas, sir.”

“Who told you that was okay?” He hisses, his hands fisted at his side. “Last I recall, you were staying up at school for the break.”

Hajime can see Oikawa's father out of the corner of his eye watching their interaction carefully, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's ready to _protect_ Hajime from his own father. He feels his heart swell with fondness for this family. “Oikawa invited me to come and stay with him and his family over the break, and I accepted his invitation,” he says, his eyes never leaving his father's face.

“Well, you can spend the rest of the break in your room, in my house.” His father points angrily towards the door. “Get your things, you're leaving, _now._ ”

Hajime sees Oikawa's mom start to say something and he speaks before she can to keep her out of the line of fire. His hands are shaking.

“No, sir,” he says, and he wants to throw up at the effort it takes to defy an order from his father.

“Excuse me?” His father asks, in the tone of voice that usually means Hajime is going to end up with something broken by the end of the night.

Words finally fail him in the face of his father's wrath. Never before has he challenged his father on anything ever, always bending to his will in the vain attempt to avoid breaking completely. I didn't work, really, but he tried.

“He's staying here,” Oikawa says next to him, and Hajime can feel the tremors running through him, knows the kind of fear he's fighting against personally, and admires him that much more for speaking despite it.

Hajime’s father shoots a furious look at Oikawa but doesn’t say anything. Hajime feels the tight band of worry around his lungs ease a bit. It’s enough that he manages to say, “I’m not leaving with you. Not now, not ever.”

Never before has Hajime seen his father this angry while sober. It’s jarring to realize that his open defiance is what brings his father to the level he’s currently at. He doesn’t think about what would have happened if he’d been brave enough to try this when he was younger.

“You’re still my son, boy, so you’ll do what I say, when I say it.”

“No,” he says simply, and while he says it softly, there is no doubting the ring of finality.

“I think you should leave,” Oikawa’s father says, gesturing back to the door.

Hajime is expecting a fight, expecting his father to drag him away kicking and screaming and for him to ignore Hajime like he has done for the last eighteen years of his life. Instead, he levels a glare at Hajime that’s so intense he feels himself flinch before he can stop it. It’s a look that says _this isn’t over_.

Except it is.

Hajime’s father walks out the door and out of Hajime’s life and he’s never felt better.

 

 

Iwaizumi Hajime is eighteen when he finally knows what it means to be free.

He spends the rest of the break with Oikawa and his family, and while he’s not completely relaxed—Hajime doesn’t think he’ll ever be relaxed until his father no longer lives down the street—he knows that if his father comes back, he won’t have to face him alone.

They return to school and fall back into their same daily routines. It’s the same as it was before, nothing has changed, except that everything has. Where they were passing ships in the night before, now they’re linked at the hands, inseparable unless they have to be.

Oikawa keeps playing volleyball, Hajime keeps up with his classes, and more often than not they fall asleep tangled together on whoever’s bed they managed to stumble their way onto in the dark. Hajime pulls Oikawa off the court when he won’t stop practicing late into the night, and Oikawa whines at him until he turns off his lamp and joins him in bed when he’s up too late studying.

It’s not perfect; they have moments of disagreement, moments when they fight. But they’re only moments in the long of it, short blips on the steady line of their relationship, and in the end the sex is always better after a fight so.

 

Hajime is nineteen when he has his last nightmare. He lets go of the past and only thinks about the future.

It looks bright, his future, and the only thing he can see with certainty is the smiling face of Oikawa by his side.

***

Oikawa Tooru is twenty-four when he makes it onto the National Volleyball team. All those years of hard work finally pay off as he steps onto the court with the rest of his team for the first match of the season.

He’s nervous, stomach fluttering as the ref blows the whistle to start the match. His nerves linger until his fingertips brush the ball in a perfect set, his eyes catching the new glint of a simple gold band around his forth finger.

That flash of gold settles his nerves, quiets his mind.

His heart beats whole and healed in the center of his chest, and it sounds like _Iwa-chan._

Oikawa Tooru is eighty-five when he realizes that nobody has ever driven him as wild as Iwaizumi Hajime does, and figures that nobody ever will.

 

_Fin_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece I've had inside me for a month now, and I'm so glad it's done and out! It turned out to be a lot heavier than I thought it would be, and it took so many different turns than I was expecting, but in the end it became so much better than I ever thought it would be. Huge thanks to KittenSmitten who sobbed over this multiple times just to tell me I was on the right track. 
> 
> I promise not all of my writing is this heavy. I'm in the middle of a very fun Haikyuu series (hijinks, parties, and Akaashi Keiji in legwarmers), so if you want to check that out you can do that [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8272681). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I treasure every comment, kudo, and hit. <33
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://mysoulrunswithwolves.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfstar_soul)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading I hope you liked it!
> 
> As always, you can find me here: [Tumblr](https://mysoulrunswithwolves.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_xKikix)


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